


Negotiations

by TheSoleSlutvivor (ChangelingDreams)



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Dirty Talk, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, F/M, Femdom, Gunplay, Hate Sex, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Graphic Violence, Oral Sex, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Sex, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27858774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChangelingDreams/pseuds/TheSoleSlutvivor
Summary: A HalluciGen crowd control grenade and a spiked Nuka Cola Quantum lead to a different kind of showdown between Kellogg and the Sole Survivor.
Relationships: Conrad Kellogg/Female Sole Survivor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	Negotiations

"Okay, you made it. I'm just up ahead. My Synths are standing down. Let's talk." 

Kellogg lets go of the intercom button and taps a command line into his terminal, opening the lock of the door between him and the most determined woman in the Commonwealth. Then he gets up, draws his pistol, and walks out between the rows of old consoles, hands held up in the air in a conciliatory gesture. The lights overhead turn on with a series of loud _chunks_ , illuminating the room just as the metal door cracks open. 

Something rolls past the threshold, and then the door is yanked closed again. Kellogg reacts on instinct, lightning reflexes throwing him to the side, behind cover. A moment passes without explosion. Then he hears a click, followed by a loud hiss, and a sharp, chemical smell burns into his nostrils. He hurries to cover his nose and mouth with a leather-clad hand, jolts back to his feet, and makes it five strides away before his legs give out. His shoulder armor takes the brunt of the fall, thankfully, though he doesn’t quite manage to stop his head from bouncing off the floor. He grinds out a curse, tries to drag himself forward on his arms, but darkness is gathering at the edges of his vision, growing quickly until he falls into thoughtless black.

When he next opens his eyes, he's in the small room he installed as his private quarters. He can tell solely by the smell; the smoke of San Francisco Sunlights has made its home in the furniture and bedding, overpowering the faint undertones of mold and ancient dust. His vision swims, and when he manages to focus, a figure comes into view, perched on the edge of his bed. Five foot five clad in skin-tight blue, a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet if he had to take a guess. Dark chestnut hair, red painted lips, pin-up curves. Where did she even manage to find lipstick, he wonders idly. She looks like she stepped straight from a centerfold poster into his room, and she's turning his .44 over in her hands, the weapon almost laughably large between her dainty fingers. 

"The hell was in that grenade?" Kellogg slurs. 

He feels numb all over, though feeling is starting to creep back into his extremities like uncomfortable static underneath his skin. His tongue is like leather in his mouth, dry enough to make swallowing difficult. He's sitting down, he notices, and when he tries to move he finds he can't, the jingle of chains giving an indication as to why. He tugs, feels the bite of metal handcuffs in the skin of his wrists and ankles. Smart girl. Knocked him out and chained him up while he was out. No way she could have overpowered him if he’d been conscious. It must have been enough of a pain to drag him in here already - he’s not exactly lightweight, what with his numerous metal augmentations adding to his natural bulk.

"I have no idea. Picked it up in a HalluciGen lab. Some kind of crowd control gas."

The voice that answers him is soft and melodious, and the woman on his bed stands up, walks over to him with a cautious tread. Nearly soundless. Interesting, that. He lifts his head to look at her, and a pair of sharp green eyes looks back at him. He expected to find them burning with anger, but instead she seems to be studying him intently. 

"Thought I said I was standing down," he manages to get out, a cough tickling in his throat. 

She hums, in a non-committal sort of way. 

"Sure. For how long? Until we had our little chat?" 

Her smile lacks any humor, and he returns it with one of his own that carries the same sentiment. 

"Took out my Synths, I expect."

He coughs this time, unable to keep the spasm of his chest in check. Whatever was in that gas canister sits in his lungs like fine dust, and he'd kill for something to wash the strange, chemical taste from his mouth. Has killed for less. 

"Ripe for the scrap heap, I'm afraid. Drink?" 

She picks up a bottle of Nuka Cola Quantum from the table to the left of her, its blue glow casting strange shadows on her face. She's difficult to read, this lady. Something in the way she carries herself definitely tells him she's pissed, but she's holding it back pretty well. She flicks the cap off the bottle with the help of his gun, and smiles at the way his lips tug down in displeasure at seeing his weapon used as a common household tool. 

"Would prefer water," he says, tongue thick in his mouth. Hell, he'd take dog's piss with the way his throat burns, but it's not like he's going to let her know that. 

"Well, I'm not a barmaid, so you'll have to make do," she replies. She holds up the bottle and steps closer, like a prim housewife offering her guest refreshment. 

"How do I know you aren't looking to poison me?" he rasps. 

"I already did," she says. “And if I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.”

“Maybe you want to see me go out slow,” Kellogg counters. “I’m not about to die suffering for your entertainment, lady.”

Her irritation filters briefly through the calm, collected aura she's projecting. "Fine," she huffs, and sets the bottle to her lips to take a demonstrative drink of soda. He watches her throat work as she swallows, watches her lick her lips clean. "There. Happy?" 

"Not particularly," he rumbles. It earns him another humourless smile, and she steps closer to set the bottle against his lips. He drinks like he crawled across a desert to get to it, chugging the contents of the bottle down in one go, and winces at the taste. 

"Always hated that stuff," he says, and she lets out a rather un-ladylike snort in reply. "So. You got me where you want me, presumably. What is it that you're trying to accomplish here?" 

Kellogg watches the woman set the empty bottle of soda back down on the table, before taking a seat in the upholstered chair set out in front of him. She crosses one thigh over the other and settles back, idly turning his gun over in her hands. 

"I just want to talk. For now," she says, throwing him another one of her thin smiles. 

"You keep handling a man's weapon like that, you're gonna give him other ideas," he says, with a dry chuckle. The bitter, chemical taste of the gas lingers in his mouth, not quite washed away by the sugary drink. There's a strange, almost floral note to the resulting blend of flavours. 

"I try to keep an open mind. Who knows what flights of fancy might take me," she replies, smooth as glass. He's almost impressed. 

Kellogg straightens up, grunts as something pulls at his cuffs to prevent him stretching to his full height. The cuffs around his ankles tug at the same time, and something between them jingles again. A chain connecting the two, most likely. Possibly fastened to the desk behind him as well. Gotta hand it to the lady - she has him by the short and curlies, it seems. 

"So. Shaun," she says, her nails running along the barrel of his pistol. 

"Shaun," he echoes. 

"Where is he?" 

"Not here."

He answers her wry smile with one of his own. She might have him tied down, but that doesn't mean he's going to make this easy for her. 

"So I noticed. Where did you take him?" 

"Didn't take him anywhere," he replies, a touch of belligerence in the growl of his voice. The woman in front of him shifts in her seat, hikes her leg a little higher. 

"Alright. Where did your associates take him, then?" 

She's patient, he gives her that. He rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck. She doesn't react to the sound. 

"Home. The Institute."

She nods, as if she was expecting that answer. Probably was. If she's good enough to track him down, she's good enough to figure out who he works for. 

"And where is this Institute?" she asks, doggedly. 

Kellogg sighs. "In a place nobody can find or reach. He's safe there."

He feels for her, in a way. Can connect to the pain she must be feeling. It's why he offered the opportunity to talk in the first place. She's earned that much, deserves that much, for having gone through what she has. Maybe he can talk her out of this pointless crusade of hers. When she hears just how out of reach her kid is, and that he's fine… That's what all parents want for their children, in the end. Isn't it? 

"He's safe? Unharmed?" 

"Perfectly safe, and happy, and comfortable. More than you can say for any other kid out in this world. Isn't it better that way?" 

He allows a hint of empathy to colour his words. He never liked the jobs that involve kids. Did them, anyway, but he never liked to. Damn, but his head is still feeling like he just got off a runaway carousel. He's unpleasantly warm as well, a trickle of sweat running down his clammy back. Whatever HalluciGen cooked up has a nasty hangover. 

"You'll forgive me if I don't attach too much value to the opinion of someone who kills people and kidnaps children for a living," the woman replies coolly. She has his gun in the palm of her hand now, fingers idly fitting against the grip. 

Handling his weapon, Kellogg thinks, and he swallows at the thought for some reason.

"You're persistent, and I can admire that," he says low, leaning forward a little in his chair and ignoring the tug on his wrists. "I do. It's how a parent should act, when it comes to their kid-" 

"Shaun isn't my son," the woman says, cutting him off and rendering him speechless for a moment. 

"What?" he says, voice so low it's almost a growl. She shifts in her seat again, taking in a breath. 

_Curious_ , some part of him thinks.

"You left the wrong woman alive," she says, propping the gun up on her thigh and pointing it at him in an accusatory sort of way. 

Kellogg frowns.

"I'm pretty sure the brainiacs checked the terminals for the pod numbers, made sure we put the mother back on ice,” he says. He thinks they did, anyway. He didn’t pay too close attention to what the eggheads got up to all those years ago. He had his job, and they had theirs.

"Little did you know, Vault-Tec had themselves a little mix-up three months into cryo," she says, lips twisted into something resembling a smile. "A malfunction that had them take out the pods and reinstall them once they fixed it. Only they didn't keep very good tabs on which pod was supposed to go where, and Nora and I always looked alike. Like sisters, people said. It was all in the maintenance logs, if you'd bothered to check them."

"Shit," he growls, surprising himself with the outburst. Not quite like his usual stoic self. 

"Quite," the woman agrees. 

"So you tracked me down across the Commonwealth just to avenge your friend?" 

"Friends," she corrects him. "Both Nate and Nora. I was never as close to him as I was to her, but they were both like family to me. Neither Nora or I had much in the way of blood relatives. I spent the holidays with her and Nate. We went on vacation together. I was 'Auntie Ada' to Shaun." 

Ada leans forward in her chair, resting Kellogg's gun on her knee. Her finger isn't on the trigger, he notices, but she's holding the weapon with the kind of comfortable confidence that comes from years of experience. He made a mistake assuming she was your average Vault Dweller. Soft, naive; the walking equivalent of pre-packaged raider food. Face to face with her at last, he’s starting to understand how she's stayed alive this long, managed to track him down and make it through his defenses. The lady clearly had some kind of training. Military, maybe, but his instincts tell him she's used to working alone. Spec Ops? Would be just his luck to have a pre-war spy mistress on his ass. He should've just killed her while she was still on ice. 

"You killed the only family I had left in the world, several of my neighbors and acquaintances, and abducted a child I consider to be my own flesh and blood," Ada continues. “You are the reason I woke up into this world _alone_. Do you have any idea what that was like?” Her voice has gone sharp and cold, and it sends a little shiver running down his spine. 

The hell did that come from? 

"Look, I get it. You're pissed off. But I'm just a puppet, lady. Shaun is with the people holding the strings, and their stage is a hell of a lot bigger than this," Kellogg says, slow and careful. 

"And that fact is the only reason you're still alive, so if I were you, I'd start thinking about showing some willingness to cooperate," Ada casts back. 

He sighs and lets his back connect with the chair behind him. As long as they're talking, he has time to try and find some way out of this. His fingers travel over the metal of his cuffs and the chain between them, trying to feel how they’re connected.

"Alright. What do you think I can do here? Take you to the institute? I don't have that kind of access."

Damn, but the after effects of the gas seem to be getting worse rather than better. He's fairly sure his face is starting to glisten with sweat, and his skin feels too small for his body. He's having difficulty thinking straight, and his addled brain keeps wandering to how good the woman in front of him looks in that suit. What's it made out of - some kind of spandex? Whatever it is, it doesn't leave much to the imagination. 

"We'll get to that in a minute. First, let’s talk about you hanging around in Diamond City with a boy of elementary school age. Somehow I find it hard to believe you switched business from merc to nanny. And being seen by plenty of witnesses in the company of a young boy that could have been Shaun? Forgive me for finding that just a tiny bit too convenient."

"I do what my boss tells me to do. That's my job," Kellogg rumbles. 

Ada straightens up and shifts again, and this time he spots the way her thighs squeeze together briefly. 

Huh. Now _that's_ interesting. 

"You were set up to act as bait," Ada snaps. "There's no reason the Institute would let a child they went to such lengths to obtain run around in public where everyone can see. Why did the Institute _want_ me to chase you?"

"Mine is not to question why," he answers, grinning at her. Riling her up might not be a good idea, but it _is_ pretty fun. Some fire is starting to melt through the cool facade she's holding up. He finds he rather likes it.

"Yours is just to do and die, is that it?" Ada narrows her eyes and lifts his gun, her thumb stroking against the safety. "Funny, because from where I'm sitting, it looks like that's exactly what you were supposed to do. Bait me out, lure me here, and get your brains blown out."

Kellogg blinks at her. "Excuse me?" he manages. Not his most eloquent work, but the fog in his head is making it hard to think. 

Ada shoots him a mocking smile. 

"Think about it. Why would your employers lure me all the way out here, with the double promise of the child I'm after and the man I want revenge on? Some kind of trap? That doesn’t make sense. They wouldn't risk an asset like you on some elaborate plot to kill or abduct me. There's far less complicated ways to accomplish that. And I don't know if you've noticed, but so far any ambush or backup has yet to show itself. It's been a good four hours since I kicked the front door down, and the Institute isn't exactly known for its slow response time, if what I’ve heard is correct. So why go through the trouble to bait me here?"

"What are you trying to say?" Kellogg growls, and there it is again; the shift in her seat, the clenching of her thighs. His stomach clenches in response, and his skin tingles with a strange rush of adrenaline. Oh, she _likes_ it when he sounds like that. Despite the current topic and general situation, he can feel a smug smirk stretch his lips.

"I think you know what I'm trying to say. What's more likely - that the Institute is suddenly making stupid decisions with valuable resources, or that you've been left behind as a loose end for me to tie up?" 

Ada tilts her head to the side and mimics his smirk. She has a small mole near the corner of her lips, he notices. For a brief moment, he has the absurd impulse to lick it. He shakes himself, refocuses. Damn her, but she's making a convincing point. He'd been wondering at some of the recent instructions he's received, and reframed by her suggestions, they suddenly make a dangerous amount of sense. 

She seems to know the kind of conclusions he's drawing, because she drags her chair closer to his, until their knees are almost touching. He's hit with the sudden urge to strain against his bonds, bridge that last bit of distance to touch her. 

"Think about it, Kellogg. Are you really willing to get yourself killed for a bunch of cowardly puppet masters hiding away from the world, who cut your strings and left you to die? Or are you going to listen to my proposal?" 

"Proposal?" 

He licks his lips, the heat that's been making him sweat rising suddenly with Ada's increased proximity. His mind wanders off to the kinds of proposals he wouldn't mind her suggesting, and he feels himself strain against the front of his trousers-

Fuck.

"Did you fucking spike that soda?" Kellogg grinds out, pulse thumping hard and fast in his throat. 

Ada's tongue flits between her lips to wet them, and his gaze locks to it. She's not quite as composed as she's trying to look, he realises. Sweat beads on her upper lip, and the skin peeking out between the zipper of her suit is flushed a pretty red. 

"Feverblossom extract," she admits. "Raiders in Nuka World use it as a party drug. Mix it with Nuka Cola, and you get a substitute for hard liquor. Seriously lowers your inhibitions. Figured it’d do as a poor woman’s truth serum."

"Not sure what kinda alcohol they used to serve back in the day, but a shot of whiskey never got my dick hard, lady," Kellogg laughs, unable to keep his mouth from running away with him. 

"Why do you think they call it ‘feverblossom’?" Ada says, with a wry smile. “It makes you sweat, and it gets you hot. Hot, as in ‘hot and bothered’.”

"Shit," he breathes, screwing his eyes shut for a moment. 

"Yeah," she agrees. "And I might have… miscalculated the dosage. Figured I'd get away with a single swig. Didn't expect it to hit this hard. Can't imagine what it's doing to you."

She lets out a little husky laugh, and it hits him like a punch of arousal to the gut. 

"So you might want to hurry up and listen to what I have to say. The Institute fucked both of us over. I'm willing to accept you were just the gun, and they were the ones that pulled the trigger, if you agree to help me out."

"Help you out with what? Take on the Institute? That's suicide." Kellogg grits his teeth, breath coming increasingly more shallow. The stuff she had him drink is starting to properly hit him, and judging by the way her pupils have blown wide, the same goes for her. 

"Help me get to the bastards. Help me find a way in. I'm not asking you to storm the place with me. Just share what you know and be my gun instead of theirs."

She shifts forwards until she's sitting on the edge of her seat, letting her legs touch his. The contact sends a jolt of excited energy through him, and he bites back a gasp, managing to turn it into a low hiss. Ada either doesn't notice, or doesn't care, because she keeps her gaze fixed on him, expression eager. 

"They left you here to die. You don't owe them anything. I'll pay you whatever they did."

"You wouldn't be able to offer me what the Institute did," Kellogg says, ignoring how he's already talking about working for the Institute in the past tense. The cuffs around his wrists and ankles are biting painfully into his skin, and he realises he's straining forward, towards the madwoman trying to talk him into her service. Fuck, but she’s his kind of girl. Gorgeous, mean, and not above playing dirty to get what she wants.

"The Institute can't offer you what I can," Ada purrs, and Kellogg growls at the husky promise in her voice, jerking in his chains like a trapped animal. She drags her lower lip between her teeth and levels his gun with his chest, muzzle brushing the leather of his jacket.  
  
“Someone likes the idea of that,” she laughs low.  
  


"Like you haven't been squirming in that chair every time my voice goes deep," he casts back, breath pulling hard at his lungs. "I wonder if you'd got up, I'd see the wet spot you've soaked right through your panties and that blue paint you call a suit, _Ada_." He turns his voice as deep and gravelly as he can, and is rewarded with a soft, open-mouthed moan. She glares at him as soon as the sound has escaped her, and he lets out a rough laugh. 

"I could still shoot you," she grinds out. 

"Hnn. You could. Think I prefer where this is going, though," he replies, keeping his voice at that same low growl that is apparently doing it for her. 

She shuts him up by pistol-whipping him, the wooden grip of his gun cracking him in the face. Hard, but nowhere near as hard as she could have. He reels from it for a moment, and when his blurred vision focuses again he can feel the barrel of his gun digging into his stomach. 

"Fuck you," Ada hisses at him, a heated look in her eyes. 

"Yeah, _that's_ pretty much where I thought this was going," Kellogg growls, and gives her a shit-eating grin as he rolls his hips up, brushing her hand holding his gun with the front of his trousers. 

She yanks her hand up to press the tip of the barrel underneath his jaw, and he tilts his head up as she increases the pressure, eyes closing briefly. The cold metal against his skin sends shivers of arousal down to his loins, and Ada laughs softly as she notices. 

"Maybe I like your voice, but you like me handling your weapon," she murmurs, taunting. 

She traces the muzzle along the corded muscle that runs down the length of his neck, lets it tap off his collarbone before nudging it into the little dip right next to it. It presses hard against his throat as he swallows. 

"What, nothing to say to that?" Ada purrs, and lets the gun trail down further, until it snags on the first fastened button of his shirt. 

"Just enjoying your idea of payback," Kellogg grunts, blinking his eyes a few times to try and chase off a sudden bout of dizziness. Either she cracked him in the face harder than he thought, or the blood rushing down to turn his dick harder than steel has left him with barely enough up top to sustain his consciousness. 

She lets out a husky chuckle in response, and slides from her chair and into his lap in one smooth motion. He groans at the contact and tilts his hips, trying to shift closer to her, but she remains perched in a way that doesn't let their groins touch. 

"Ah-ah. I'm running the show here," she says, all stern and teacher-like, and he hisses as his twitching cock strains against his trousers. 

"Get on with it then," he rasps. 

She lets out a soft, mocking laugh, and strains the gun against the button of his shirt until it pops off. It pings onto the floor and disappears underneath an ancient cupboard, and the muzzle kisses down his chest until it reaches the next button. 

"I liked this shirt," Kellogg grunts. 

"I like it better off you," Ada smirks, and he doesn't have a reply for that. 

He watches as she pauses ruining his shirt to zip down his jacket, and obligingly rolls his shoulders so she can push it down his arms. She makes quick work of the rest of his buttons, peels his shirt away as well, and sits back on his thighs to admire her handiwork. 

Admire _him._ He sucks in a breath and flexes instinctively, and she lets her head roll back to laugh at him, baring the slender line of her throat. 

"Don't go anywhere, there's a good boy," she tells him, and he snaps his teeth at her as she stands up, earning himself another husky chuckle. He's half starting to worry she's simply going to leave him here, rock hard and panting, but she sets his gun down on the table at her side, brings up a hand to her throat, and slides the zipper of her suit all the way down. 

He stares artlessly as a wide strip of smooth, pale skin is revealed, followed by more of her as she shrugs the suit down her shoulders. It falls to her waist, and she wiggles her hips in little shimmies as she peels it over them and down her legs. Her boots are next, quickly discarded. He lets out a groan when she strips away her underwear with the same quick, practical movements, leaving her standing naked in front of him. 

"Fuck, you pre-war women were something else," Kellogg grinds out, eyes roving hungrily over her body. He's had plenty of women in his day, but he's never seen one quite like this before. The women of the wasteland are hard, wiry, often scrawny with malnutrition. The women of the Institute are well-fed, soft from never having to do any physical work in their sterile utopia. Ada is all soft curves over hard muscle, both shapely and sleek, feminine and predator. A number of scars paint a rough contrast against the smoothness of her skin, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen tits quite that… perky.

"Mmm. Sweet talker." Ada gives him a smug smile and picks up his gun again, before stalking towards him. His breath hitches in his chest when she plants a foot between his thighs, but she simply uses it as a foothold to step up and sling a leg over his shoulder. She braces her other foot on the desk behind him, and grabs his chin with her hand to lift his head up. Her nails dig into his skin as she looks down at him, forcing him to look her in the eye rather than the crotch. 

"How about you put your mouth to better use for a while," she purrs, and lets go of his chin after giving it a last little squeeze. 

The cold press of his gun settles back against his jaw. He turns his head to the side to press a kiss against her thigh, keeping his eyes on her. She's watching him with parted lips, and she nudges him gently with the gun, in a wordless 'get on with it'. 

What he wouldn't give to have the use of his hands right now, he thinks, while sliding his tongue over the soft skin of her inner thigh, closer to the short, dark curls at its apex. He wishes he could grab hold of her ass and pull her into his mouth, and maybe she has similar thoughts running through her mind, because she cups the back of his head with her free hand and pushes him closer. Her soft gasp of pleasure when he sets his lips against hers and swipes at her with his tongue does wonders for his ego. He repeats the motion, sliding his tongue along the length of her slit, and her hips push forward a little more in response, settling more snugly against his face. 

She's still too far away for his liking. So he sets to drawing her closer, bit by bit. Firm swirls of his tongue around her clit followed by teasing little licks, drawing back to nip at the inside of her thigh after kissing and sucking at her deeply. She responds by pushing at his head at first, but his insistence wins out, and eventually she repositions herself with a huff of frustration, shoving her hips forward to practically sit on his face, one thigh pressed against his chest while the other keeps his head trapped in place. He rewards her by diving into her properly, plundering her with his mouth and drawing little sounds of pleasure from her with his lips and tongue. 

Her foot slides forward, underneath one of his thighs, providing just enough contact to rub his erection against her leg. Either she doesn't mind or she's too preoccupied by what he's doing between her legs to care, because she lets him find a fraction of relief like that. And god, he needs it - the thick, heady taste and scent of her is drowning his senses, the slick silken texture of her slit begging to be licked and sucked into his mouth. He eats her with more enthusiasm than skill, greedily suckling on her swollen flesh and lapping through her folds. Whatever he's not giving her she's more than happy to take for herself, and he groans against her as she rolls her hips down to ride his mouth, her hand firmly keeping his head locked between her legs. 

She's panting heavily sooner than Kellogg gives himself credit for - the feverblossom seems to make her more sensitive, just as it does to him. He could easily come just like this, grinding himself against her while she writhes on his tongue, despite the thick fabric of his trousers dulling a lot of sensation for him. He sucks in breaths through flared nostrils whenever he can, but Ada is making it harder to breathe the more enthusiastically she grinds down against his face, and the moans she's trying to hold back but can't quite prevent are bringing him dangerously close to the edge. He's not willing to go out just yet - not before he's had her on his dick - so he sucks in another breath and _growls,_ letting the sound vibrate through his chest and throat as deep as he can, hoping it'll have the effect he thinks it will. 

Ada shudders above him, chokes on a half-strangled moan, and twitches on his tongue as her hips start to stutter. He takes her clit between his lips and sucks, and she bucks hard, the hand on his head grasping at the back of his collar for lack of hair. He drinks in the sound of her ragged breaths as she comes, suckles on the little bundle of nerves at the top of her slit while she contracts rhythmically against his lower lip. His mouth comes away with a wet pop when she finally pushes away from him, legs shaking as she artlessly slides down into his lap. 

"Hn. Felt like a good one." He grins as he catches his breath. His neck is aching from having his head pushed back, his cock is throbbing painfully in the confines of his trousers, and his head is still pounding and spinning something fierce, but he'll be damned if that's going to be enough to stop him from being an asshole. 

"F-fuck you," Ada gasps. Gratifying. 

He clicks his teeth together close to her ear and lets his voice roll deep in his chest again, taunting her despite the fact that she still has his gun pressed against the side of his neck. "Scoot forward a little and I'll happily oblige."

She leans back a little to scowl at him, but her fury is ruined somewhat by the flushed, flustered look on her face, and her open-mouthed panting. He can see her tongue peek out just behind her teeth, and is hit by the sudden urge to kiss her. So he does, lunging forward to crash his lips against hers, pushing his tongue into her mouth demandingly. 

He thinks she might push him back or pistol-whip him again, but after a frozen half-second, she groans into his mouth and kisses him back. He feels her breasts press into his bare chest, nipples hard, stiff peaks. He throws his knees up to angle his thighs so she slides into him, and is rewarded by both the press of her naked body full against his front, and a mean bite to his lip that breaks the skin. 

"Don't you dare-" she hisses, drawing back to give him another furious look. The kiss has smeared her lipstick, and one of her teeth is flecked with his blood. 

Fucking beautiful. 

"If you wanna keep running this show, get to the main event," he laughs, enjoying the way her eyes narrow with anger. 

"Maybe I'll just leave you tied up like this and get dressed. Find out if a man can die from blue balls," she snaps back. 

He rolls his hips up into her in response, trying for an infuriating smirk but probably not quite getting there, with the way his breath is wheezing in his chest and his pulse drums in his ears. 

"You won't do that," he grunts, managing to inject his words with a certain amount of smugness. 

Ada arches an eyebrow at him, but she's breathing as hard as he is, and it's not all from the fact she just came on his mouth, either. He can feel her hips roll subtly into his lap, and while his gun stays pressed against his neck, her grip on it is loose and relaxed, the hand that holds it resting on his shoulder. 

"Won't I?" she says, and he knows she's not going anywhere. 

"Nah. You want to sit on my dick as much as I want it inside you." His smirk solidifies as he gently grinds his crotch into hers again. If looks could kill, he'd be dead, but while he's still breathing he's more than happy to push his luck. 

"I really fucking hate you," she hisses, all venom and righteous anger, while her free hand digs down between them to find the button of his trousers. 

"Yeah, yeah. I'm a monster, yadda yadda-" he drawls, cutting off into a sucked-in breath as the motions of her yanking his zipper down drags the fabric against his sensitive flesh. 

"Don't get cocky. Might still shoot you after this," she huffs. He rasps out a laugh, groans as her fingers slip behind the waistband of his underwear to pull him free. She squeezes him viciously, and he groans again, breath catching in his throat. 

"Fuckin' worth it," he growls, and lunges forward to capture her lips again into another bruising kiss. 

She responds immediately, violently, biting at him as much as she licks into his mouth. Her patience seems to have left her, as she doesn't waste any further time in lifting up her hips and shifting them forward, angling herself against the tip of his cock. And then she's working herself down, and his wits leave him, any notion that isn't the tight slide of her around him fading away entirely. 

"Shit," he groans, as her mouth opens on a soundless moan. And because he _is_ an asshole, he bucks up into her before she's managed to take all of him, drawing a stuttered cry from her lips. 

She recovers quick, wet as she is from his earlier ministrations, and squeezes down hard in retaliation. He grunts and clenches his eyes shut, focuses on moving again, working in and out of her as she clutches at him. 

"God I- _hate_ you. Fucking… f-feverblossom…" Ada gasps, jerking her hips into the rhythm of his regardless. His gun bounces off his back as she drops it to brace herself on his shoulders, letting it clatter noisily down on the desk behind him. 

"Should've thought of that… before… nh. Drinking it," Kellogg grunts, relishing in the way her nails dig into his skin. Fuck, but she's hot and _wet_ for him, slick sounds accompanying their movements as they both chase their pleasure. 

"Should've… forced it… down your throat- _Fuck_!" 

She arches in his lap, and he chases her down as her hips tilt back, letting himself sag down in the chair he's bound to. The change in position brings her chest level with his mouth, and he closes his lips around a nipple, sucking hard. She grabs hold of the back of his head and curses, high and shivery, and _god_ he wishes he could free his hands, grab hold of her ass while she rides him like this. He lets go of her nipple after catching and worrying it between his teeth, drawing a whimper from her.

“Not like I forced it down yours- Christ, woman!” He barely keeps himself from yelping as she scrapes her nails down his neck and back, her head falling down to set her teeth in his shoulder. The pain spikes the pleasure rolling in his gut, and it doesn't escape his notice that her thighs clenched tight around him at the same time she launched her attack. 

"What- am I giving you ideas?" He laughs hoarsely, nearly delirious with smug satisfaction. "You thinking of me forcing something else down your throat?" 

"S-shut up!" she whines, squeezing down on his dick despite her protestations. 

"You like the- _mmm_ , sound of that, huh?" he taunts, bracing his feet further apart to give himself enough leverage to thrust up into her. He can feel his peak building low behind his navel, but he pulls against the cuffs to make them bite into his wrists, tries to focus on the pain to stave off the inevitable. "You like the idea of me- _shit_ , f-fucking your mouth, girl?" 

He likes the idea of it just fine himself - sliding his dick between those plush red lips, having her glare up at him, tears streaking down her face when he pushes into her throat - he bites his tongue to push down the pleasure rushing up his thighs at the vivid mental image, focuses on bouncing her in his lap. 

"Shut… shshut _up,"_ Ada pants, clenching tighter around him. The roll of her hips is turning uneven and shallow - she's getting close, and the knowledge burns with hot satisfaction in his chest. 

"Thought you liked the, _nnh_ , sound of my voice- _god_ ," Kellogg grunts, letting his head fall forward to lick a wet stripe along her shoulder. The chair is uncomfortably scraping down his back, his shoulders are agony, and his spine is screaming bloody murder, but he grits his teeth and thrusts up into her harder, pulling whimpers from her with each one. "Think you'd like- _fuck_ , like to hear it while you're on your- your knees for me, paying me for my, _mmm_ , services- _God,_ I can feel you getting tighter." His laugh sounds unhinged in his own ears, more like a bestial snarl than anything human, and he slips into his native Southern drawl without noticing. "You gonna- gonn'- _fuck!_ You gon' come f'me?" 

God but she _writhes_ for him, her thighs trembling around his waist as his filthy mouth tips her over the edge. Her inner muscles grip him like a velvet vice, squeezing in steady, milking pulses, and he swears he can feel his balls tighten as the sensation pulls his own orgasm from him, rushing up in a sudden, unstoppable flood. 

" _Shit,_ attagirl, c'mon- god _damn!"_

He strains up in a painful arc, clenching his jaw as his hips jerk up. He'd swear her slit is sucking on his dick like a mouth with how hard he comes, and his vision blacks out for a few seconds as he empties himself inside her. 

Kellogg regains his senses with Ada draped over his chest, her moist breath panting heavily into his neck. 

"God, I think I just died," he rasps, in between ragged breaths. 

"-fuckin _kill_ you," she grunts in reply, though her body remains limp and relaxed on top of him. He lets out a breathless chuckle, and turns his head to press a kiss into her hair. 

"You can't kill me, I'm a… I'm a valuable asset," he pants, grinning at her despite the fact she can't see it. 

His head feels a little clearer after the release of his orgasm, and the pounding in his temples has eased some. To his surprise, he's still hard inside the woman sprawled on top of him, and he flexes the muscles in his lower belly experimentally. The resulting twitch is evidently noticeable, as Ada lets out a soft moan that would have him hard again if he wasn't still. 

"Potent stuff, feverblossom," he remarks idly, working to let his breath even out. 

"Can't believe you came inside me," she groans back. She lifts her hand to slap his shoulder, but it doesn't have much strength behind it. 

"Mmnh. And how," he growls, earning himself another helpless little moan. "You want me to make it up to you, _boss_?" 

She's quiet for a moment, catching her breath, and then lifts her head to give him a dubious look. She looks a mess - a glowy, well-fucked mess. It's a good look on her. 

"Does that mean you're taking me up on my proposal?" 

"You have a… convincing way of negotiating," he rasps hoarsely. "Guess I was swayed by the perks of the job."

She lets out an amused little huff, and squeezes down on him, hard. He hisses between his teeth, jerks his hips up into her. She grinds down on him in a lazy motion, and he nips at her ear when she laughs low. 

"Well, if that's the kind of offer it takes…" she hums, and lets him nudge her head to the side so he can run his tongue up her neck. 

"You get to run the show as long as I'm on the clock," he says, pausing to suck the salt from her skin. "Mnh. Fuck, you taste good. When we're on down time, I get to have you when I want, how I want. We can work out the particulars - schedule, vetoes - but that's my price for helping you with your elaborate suicide scheme."

"And here I was thinking you liked me in charge," Ada breathes, her nails dragging gently over his back as he presses open-mouthed kisses into her skin. 

"That'd be included in the 'how I want'," Kellogg grins, and she laughs huskily in turn, leaning her head back to look at him. 

"Alright Mr. Kellogg. You have yourself a deal," she murmurs, the smile that tugs on her lips only a little wry. "Just keep in mind that if you don't deliver on your end of the bargain, I'm still blowing your fucking head off."

"Wouldn't want it any other way," he says. 

She's his kind of girl, alright. And when she gets him out of his cuffs and chains, he makes sure to get his first paycheck up front. 


End file.
